


Island

by nonakani



Category: Mother 3
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Hallucinations, Implied abuse, Mindfuck, Parents & Children, Tanetane Island
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-06 22:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/423861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonakani/pseuds/nonakani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Be wary, Duster, as you take your first tentative steps on Tanetane island: there may be monsters just beyond your field of vision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Island

Lucas was the last of them to wake up.  
  
He turned over, retching, emptying his stomach out on the forest floor, just as Kumatora and Duster himself had done when they first opened their eyes. But Lucas shivered more than Kumatora had, and she more so than Duster; Duster assumed that it was because he was the oldest.  
  
Duster was filled with an indescribably odd sensation.  
  
But his head felt clear. He sat on a log and looked around as he waited for the sounds of Lucas's agony to stop.  
  
The forest was an amalgamation of Magypsy pink, like Kumatora's hair. At his ankles, a teal patch of grass tickled noiselessly – the entire expanse, humid in all its murky green shades, was strangely calm as swamp gasses lightly flew about in the vague shapes of flowers. Something seemed off, Duster thought, but his stomach churned apprehensively as he turned to that line of thought.  
  
Lucas's breathing had slowed to something that sounded relatively normal. Duster picked himself up off the log, weak leg wobbling, and helped Kumatora lift Lucas to his feet. His eyes were bloodshot, dilated, bright in the relative darkness around them.  
  
Kumatora's eyes, too, seemed wild with a strange energy, halfway to exhaustion: their normal, adventurous glint was gone. Unkempt hair framed them, making her look exactly as a castaway should, the colors of her hair and clothes blending far too well in to the background.  
  
Duster looked down at himself, too. Waterlogged clothes sagging, every inch of himself that he could see looked like a mess.  
  
Lucas coughed in to his hands – a thick, nasal mucus that broke through his hands and splattered them with moisture. "W-where...?" His voice trailed off.  
  
"We're...on Tanetane Island, I think," said Kumatora with fractured words, though she sounded unsure. She was looking around, perhaps to discern their location, but she teetered as her head moved. "Well, I think so. This is Tanetane Island, right?"  
  
Nobody answered. Lucas started to waver, almost collapsing without having moved at all.  
  
"Can you walk?" asked Duster. Lucas made a motion with his head that looked like an answer to the negative.  
  
Gently, being careful not to shake him too badly, Duster lifted Lucas on to his back, arms holding up his legs so that he could lean comfortably with his arms over Duster's shoulders. He slumped in to the shape of Duster's shoulderblades, eyes half closed. Duster, despite his sudden lightheadedness, was able to hold Lucas up without issue.  
  
Duster turned to Kumatora. "We should probably go look for the needle," he said. Kumatora, nodding, followed Duster as he lead the way in to the trees.  
  
Everything, in all directions, looked the same – pinks and greens and blues – and Duster almost lost track of Kumatora once or twice. She was too much like the trees, waving as she walked, dizzy and dizzying, bright colors hardly muted by the wear and tear her clothes had gone through on their travels. She blended well, so much that Duster would look in any given direction and wonder if what he saw out of the corner of his eye was Kumatora or something else.  
  
Lucas's eyes shot open -  
  
"Claus!"  
  
He literally jumped up in his seat, so that Duster dropped him on to his back. Lucas scrambled haphazardly to his feet as Duster regained his balance, and ran forward for just an instant before taking only tentative steps.  
  
"Claus? Claus...? It's me, Lucas!"  
  
Nobody was there.  
  
Duster reached out, grabbing Lucas gently on the shoulder. He pulled away.  
  
"Claus! Where are you...why are you running?!"  
  
Lucas tried to run again, but his legs didn't quite reach as far as his normal stride, and he tripped over his own feet. He hit the ground head-first, not even bothering to spread out his arms or break his fall with scraped elbows.  
  
Duster rushed up to Lucas, leaning behind him, but not daring to touch him in case he reacted badly. He was shaking, now – sobbing, tears not quite falling despite how much he squeezed his eyes to let them out. His face was twisted in to a terrified scowl as he cried out, arms shaking as he clenched his hands in to tight fists.  
  
"Claus, why...? It's all my...?"  
  
Duster thought it best to be silent. There was never a right thing to say.  
  
A thin wind blew through the trees, clearing some of the gasses around them. Kumatora, he noticed with a sinking feeling, a sudden deep ringing in his ears, was gone.  
  
"Come on, Lucas," said Duster with urgency, grabbing him by the wrist and picking him up despite his complete unresponsiveness. Instead of carrying him, Duster dragged Lucas along, his grip tight, Lucas following blankly behind.  
  
"Kumatora! Kuma-"  
  
He found her, and others.  
  
The table sat five, and one seat was empty. OJ was leaning on the table, his head held up by a hand at his cheek. Magic and Shimmy Zmizz were playing a rather competitive game of stone-sheet-clippers (it seemed to Duster that Shimmy Zmizz was winning, but then again, the tides of fate were easily turned). Baccio, only half paying attention to any of them, was tapping a rhythm on the table.  
  
Kumatora stepped gracefully around the table, smiling the eeriest smile he had ever seen. A pure, innocent grin with wide, gleeful eyes that didn't fit it at all.  
  
She was saying something to them, something Duster couldn't quite hear. She leaned in to OJ's ear, and the two of them giggled. The rest of the group followed, before Kumatora could place a pile of leaves and mushrooms in front of each of them.  
  
"Oh! It's Lucky!"  
  
"We've been waiting for you, you know!"  
  
Violet sent him that same, ambiguous wink that she always did, as if she knew something that he didn't know. The rest of DCMC always thought it was hilarious how she had picked out smelly ol' Lucky as her favorite.  
  
"So, what'll you have?" She held up her notepad, expectant.  
  
"The usual," said Lucky, sitting down in the empty chair. He ran his fingers through the afro wig.  
  
"Big City Fries, Big City Cola?"  
  
"But of course."  
  
Magic elbowed Lucky in the side. "You never shake things up, man!"  
  
"I'll eat what I eat!" Their grins were palpable.  
  
Violet came back a few minutes of idle chat and banter later with Lucky's meal. How long had it been since he had eaten something warm? He had been so busy traveling with-  
  
"But really, Lucky," said Magic. "Try mine. It's really good!"  
  
It was that Pork Burger that he always ordered, some Secret Sauce dribbling down the side of the bun. The plate was otherwise empty, save for the bed of lettuce on which the Pork Burger rested.  
  
The two of them traded plates. Lucky picked up the Pork Burger and sniffed it: there was something strange about the sauce, a peculiar odor... Was it maybe mushrooms?  
  
Lucky thought he heard the bark of a dog in the distance, a ringing bell so familiar, someone tugging at his arms and pulling him back...  
  
"Duster?" The burger smelled delicious.  
  
"Lucky?" He touched it to his mouth...  
  
"Hey, Lu-" Just a bite, despite the odd smell.  
  
"Duster!"  
  
Duster doubled over, spitting out the purple-and-yellow mushroom cap before he could swallow any of it. Lucas was holding on to his wrist, now, and rubbed his back gently as he spit up little bits of grass and tree bark. He couldn't quite get rid of the lump in his throat.  
  
"Duster..." Lucas sounded fragile, but wasn't shaking quite as much any more. Kumatora was collapsed in a heap in front of them.  
  
"You suddenly started to act really weird. I... I was so worried..."  
  
Duster breathed in, deep, calming himself. "I'm sorry, Lucas."  
  
Though he hadn't looked up yet, Duster imagined that Lucas was smiling. "It's okay."  
  
Everything had quieted, until they could only hear the sounds of their own deep, tattered breathing.  
  
"...for what happened to Claus." Duster only heard the second half of what Lucas had said.  
  
"Hm...?" Sitting there, on his knees, made Duster feel drowsy.  
  
"I always blamed myself for what happened to Claus," he repeated. "I should have gone with him...should have taken his place. Then you wouldn't... Claus wouldn't..." He sniffed, reigning in tears.  
  
Duster rolled over on to his back, and turned his head toward Lucas.  
  
"Dad, I know you blame yourself, too... B-but none of it's your fault. Everything... You can blame me, if you want."  
  
Lucas was looking just beyond Duster, as if something or someone were behind him. But Duster looked, and again saw nothing. Did Lucas think that he was Flint? It was so strange – he had referred to him by name only a minute ago.  
  
They were caught in something from which they could not escape.  
  
Duster hated these sorts of situations, where he was at the center of some great, horrible event. There was never anything to say, never anything that could be done to remedy the problem. Lucas, before him, held a distinctly determined look that Duster had only seen on him once or twice, the expression that made him want to throw all of his confidence in to that one little boy.  
  
But his eyes here too bloodshot for any of that to be real.  
  
"...I feel like a father, sometimes," said Duster. He had tried to think of a way to answer as though he were Flint, but he just couldn't put himself in the broken man's shoes. "Taking care of you and Kumatora and even Boney... It's like a family, isn't it?" Duster's smile was weak, but genuine.  
  
"Dad, what-"  
  
"Come on, Lucas. Let's get out of here."  
  
He picked Kumatora up off the ground and lifted her on to his back like he had done with Lucas, what felt like hours ago. Her breathing was normal; dirt flecked her hair and was smeared across her elbows and knees and the palms of her hands. Lucas, shy in the presence of what he thought to be his father, followed close behind.  
  
The forest never seemed to thin. The trees, colors still so painfully bright to Duster's sensitive eyes that he couldn't keep them from watering, went on forever in all directions, the occasional clearing appearing almost uniformly to them as they travelled. And, as much as Duster wanted them to find their way out, he enjoyed the silence, the calm rhythm of Kumatora's heartbeat and the quiet thump of Lucas's footsteps. If only their lives could be that simple.  
  
Bark! Bark!  
  
A distinctly familiar sound pervaded the silence, rending intently through it.  
  
"Is that...Boney?" questioned Duster.  
  
"...I think so." replied Lucas. Good, though Duster. If Lucas heard it too, then he wasn't imagining it. Duster and Lucas exchanged a knowing look, and sped off toward it.  
  
"Dad, isn't that old man Wess's house?"  
  
Indeed it was. Duster immediately recognized the shape of the roof's incline, the color of the stained wood, the faint smell of smoke. He briefly accepted that it was there, and that he was home, but Kumatora shifted a little in her sleep and reminded him of exactly where he was. The churning pit in his stomach grew.  
  
"I know you met a old man Wess a few times, right, Dad?" continued Lucas. "He's a pretty nice guy. I met his son once, too, a few years ago. But then he vanished, and old man Wess never saw him again. I wonder if he... Is that my fault too, Dad?"  
  
Lucas was shaking again. Did the extent of his blame go down so deep?  
  
"Nothing's your fault, Lucas," said Duster, again finding no other words. "Let's go inside."  
  
The door creaked just like Duster remembered. The third floorboard, too; Duster wondered if the dud Smoke Bomb he made while training years ago was still hidden underneath it. But where was Boney? His barks had been from this direction, but the dog was nowhere to be found.  
  
The house was well lit... Duster could see every crack in the walls, every knot in the wood, the single table, set for a meal for two, by the fireplace. It felt like home.  
  
As suddenly as Duster had entered the house, so did Wess from the basement, carrying the Tickle Stick over his shoulder; Duster wondered if he had been using it to clean again. He looked exactly as he had on that night, when Duster had left for the castle and he, Wess, and Kumatora had collapsed in to the freezing river, when more than just bodies had been washed away. Duster shivered.  
  
"Well, it certainly took you long enough!" said Wess, as admonishing as ever. "Lay the princess down and come get something to eat, you moron!"  
  
Duster jumped up and obeyed, laying Kumatora down on his bed, recently washed so that his familiar odor was faint. He leaned over her for a long moment – too long, what was he doing? - and left her alone in the alcove to sit at his father's table. The same meager portions he recalled were laid out, silverware cleaned to a distinct shine, and Duster looked down at the food. Something in his gut told him not to eat, so he played with the fork, scooting a potato back and forth across his plate in a small pool of sauce.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kumatora sleeping soundly, but even that failed to ease his weariness. His eyes wandered toward her the more distracted he got, but every time Wess moved outside of eating his food Duster snapped to attention.  
  
Where was -  
  
"Why aren't you eating, Duster?" Wess sounded almost civil.  
  
Duster gulped, his throat still lumped up and finding it hard to properly swallow. He wanted to say that he wasn't hungry, but his mouth wouldn't even move, his tongue glued to its roof. He couldn't even look his father in the eye.  
  
"You know, I spent a good hour planning this. You should be grateful!"  
  
"Yes, Father." But just the thought of eating made him want to vomit, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out why.  
  
"I know you usually cook dinner, but I wanted to do this for you. No training tonight – we're taking the night off."  
  
He pushed his plate aside. "You remember?" he asked. "You used to run off after training to the village. You'd get lost between the houses..."  
  
Wess, suddenly angry, stood and swept his arm across the table, letting dishes and silverware, glasses and plates, fly to the floor with an audible smash. "I went looking for you every night. You always ended up by the Prayer Sanctuary. And then I'd take you home – drag you home, if I had to – and we'd start training all over again."  
  
Again, Wess lashed out, and then the table had been pushed aside, tablecloth gripping at the legs of the table as if hugging on to someone cherished.  
  
Duster took a step back, but was suddenly on the ground.  
  
His ankle had given out with the step, so simple an action, and Duster hardly felt himself fall. Twisted backwards, it had swollen to at least double its normal size, red and throbbing. Duster grabbed on to it in an instant, cursing under his breath as pain shot up through his ankle and up to his leg, and then looked up again as Wess's shadow intermingled with his own.  
  
"And look what it did to you! Look what I did to you! Crushed your leg in a mangled heap! The bone was showing right through, blood splattered everywhere..."  
  
Duster's grip on his leg had grown tight, and he scratched at them as he pulled away, crawling backwards, away from his father, never taking his eyes off him. He felt like he was falling through the floor, his perception of its depth ever shifting, his vision warping so that Wess appeared larger and larger with each step.  
  
"Am I a horrible father, Duster? Is that why? You ran away because I am a monster?"  
  
Lucas suddenly came to mind, and Duster wondered how he could ever forget him. Was he still outside? And where was Boney? And was Kumatora still sleeping?  
  
Duster finally reached the wall, his back slamming in to the metal doorknob. He twisted as best he could without putting pressure on his foot, shaking hands gripping the doorknob and turning it in both directions. It resisted, the door failing to open, and as Duster grew more desperate he shook the doorknob harder.  
  
"Well, I am a monster. Do you remember, Duster? Do you remember an island, a river, or did the Egg take your memories away? Do you remember, Duster? Do I need to hit you hard enough that you forget again?"  
  
The doorknob broke off, and hit the ground with heart-dropping thud.  
  
Wess reached Duster, and grabbed him by the collar. He held Duster's face right in front of his own, his breath rank like raw mushrooms.  
  
"Y-you..."  
  
"Pop quiz, moron. Pick the lock if you're so keen on escaping training again."  
  
"You're..."  
  
"Out with it, boy, or shut your trap!"  
  
"I hate you!"  
  
Wess dropped Duster in absolute shock. Duster landed on his ankle again, and let out a cry of genuine pain as he collapsed.  
  
It sounded so childish. He must have said when he was child, at least once, and never really meant it. But now, just now, something white-hot and dangerous churned in his gut, like bitterness and worry and maybe hatred.  
  
"I just...wanted to be like other kids. But it was always 'Pick this lock!' or 'Climb in these rafters!'"  
  
Duster's hands wandered again to his swollen leg, the entire thing puffed up and bruising all at once. "When did we ever just have a meal like this? Never! Not even once!"  
  
His grip, again, tightened, as he started scratching at his leg without even realizing. In the bruises, dark black flecks like a plague started to sprout out at his fingertips. Duster scratched at them, harder now as he tried to get rid of them, but all that came off was flakes of skin, chunks of skin until he drew blood.  
  
Wess was saying something, but his voice was drowned out by Duster's own suddenly fervent thoughts. He continued to claw at his leg, through lean muscle and veins, trying to get rid of the flesh that continued to rot and its edges and spread, caking his hands in blood. It was under his fingernails; his leg hurt so much, but he couldn't stop scratching. He had to make it stop...!  
  
He hit bone, something he couldn't scratch through, and gratefully ceased. The itch, the unbearable itch, was gone. But his leg was still rotting, decaying unbearably fast before him, skin and muscle turning black and green. His blood was bright, iridescent blue for just an instant before it hit the air.  
  
Maggots gathered over his leg, the dead mass that could hardly be called a limb any more, laying eggs and maturing in slow motion in to flies, wings unfurling like butterflies from cocoons. His hands were shaking.  
  
Duster might have screamed.  
  
His eyes shot open, vision half impaired by the forest floor. His head felt like it had been split open.  
  
Duster bolted up, sitting. Kumatora and Lucas were both asleep next to him, Boney curled up protectively around his owner, the four of them gathered in almost a circle. Duster's hands were clasped loosely around his leg, unharmed and unbloodied.  
  
Had everything been a dream? Already, the details were slipping...  
  
Duster was suddenly dizzy, having gotten up to quickly. He turned toward the ground and vomited, the first of many times.


End file.
